I was at last ushered into a parlour hung with engravings in which Chinese and Tartars were seen at war, and where stood a priest in conversation with a lady in deep mourning. The impression made on my mind by the Rector in this interval of waiting was that he was the thinnest man I had ever seen. His face was very pale, and there was a want of symmetry in his features which annoyed me, and his expression, at one and the same time humble and penetrating, set me thinking. I gained my living by studying men in order to make them figure in my books, and I occupied myself with studying this priest according to the rules of my profession of word-painter. I found, however, that none of my rules helped me to account for the contradictory symptoms I noted. The character stamped on his countenance, so noble and yet Bo gentle, so commanding and yet so self-contained, was an unknown tongue to me. To my mind, the unutterable daring of his glance gave the lie to the tender and timid humility which also entered into its composition. I could not reconcile so much majesty with so much simplicity.
When the " lady in deep mourning" was gone, the Pere Olivaint approached and asked his business. " He smiled, and his smile gave a charming light to his countenance." However, the novelist left the college that day, resolving that no son of his should ever enter at Vaugirard—a resolution for which he accounts by saying that, if every man has a share of the peacock in him, an author's share is double, and the Rector had not flattered him by any surprise at his coming. Nevertheless, he writes :—
A month later, however, I was driving along that same road once more to visit my boy, who had " entered Vangirard " in spite of all, and who passed there all the happy years of youth. But it did not take all those years to open my eyes. It was as early as the occasion of my second interview that I gained a revelation of the elevation and sweetness of mind of Pere Olivaint. True, I did not so soon learn to know him fully, for it needed nothing less than his death to unveil the mystery of charity which made up his life; but even at that early stage I learned to bow with the respectful interest of an amateur before his rare character, in composing which grace had selected and put together in perfect harmony all the choicest gifts known to the soul of man.
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Jesuit martyr; born Paris, France, 22 February 1816; died there, 26 May 1871. Born of irreligious parents he was converted by Lacordaire's sermons, while in the Normal School, and became an apostle of charity in the Saint Vincent de Paul Society. After teaching history for some years at Grenoble and Paris he entered the Jesuits, 1845, stirred thereunto by the attacks being made on them by the state. Most of his life thenceforth was spent in Paris teaching and preaching. During the Paris Commune he was put to death in Rue Haxo. His remains were placed in the chapel of the Rue de Sevres, and many extraordinary favors have been attributed to his intercession.
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The revolutionary party which took possession of the city after the siege of Paris by the Prussians began, in the last days of March, to arrest the priests and religious to whom personal character or official position gave a certain prominence. No reason was given for these arbitrary measures, except the hatred with which the leaders of the Commune regarded the Catholic Church and her ministers.
The third group of martyrs perished on 26 May; the revolutionists were now driven back by the steady advance of the regular troops, and only the heights of Belleville were still in the possession of the Commune. Over fifty prisoners were taken from the prison of La Roquette and conducted on foot to this last stronghold of the revolution. Among them were eleven ecclesiastics: three Jesuits, four members of the Congregation of the Sacred Heart and Mary, three secular priests, and one seminarist. All displayed heroic courage, the best known among them was Father Olivaint, rector of the Jesuit house of the Rue de Sèvres, who thirsted for martyrdom. After a painful journey through the streets, which were filled with an infuriated rabble, the prisoner were herded into an enclosure, called the cité Vincennes, on the height of Belleville. Here they were hacked to pieces by a crowd of men, women, and even children. There was no attempt to organize a regular execution like the one at La Roquette; the massacre lasted an hour, and most of the bodies were disfigured beyond recognition. Only a few hours later the regular troops forced their way to La Roquette, delivered the prioners that still remained there, and took possession of Belleville, the stronghold of Commune.
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Blogger Note: The links in this post make the story of Pere Olivaint, S.J. come alive
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